


zhar-ptitsa

by ashforge



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anastasia was a Closet Lesbian, Cunnilingus, F/F, Ice Princess, Internalized Homophobia (Mild), Power Play (Mild), Russian Nonsense, Temperature Play, Untranslated Russian, Viy as a Plot Device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 19:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15802791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashforge/pseuds/ashforge
Summary: “Isn’t it cold?” She asked, her Master’s hands around her own.To which Ritsuka Fujimaru tilted her head.  “No, you’re actually quite warm.”





	zhar-ptitsa

There were many ups and downs to being a Servant. To those who met tragic ends, or famous ends, the disparity grew wider and wider. Anastasia met a Servant who was famous for being a genius swordsman and for being sick. In her life as a Servant, she was perpetually sick. Racked with respiratory pain and fever at a moments notice. She didn’t think she had it as bad as that woman – not really. But she wished things were not so cold.

Even in the temperate climates of Chaldea’s made her breath mist like dry ice. Beneath the velvet of her clothes, she still felt a chill and hot tea felt like cold water by the time it sank to her stomach. She was a woman of nobility and grace though. Anastasia did not complain, or whine. This was her burden, after all. Princesses and queens were born to shoulder suffering and responsibility. A little chill would not stop her from smiling, because she was given another chance.

She told that to herself, anyway, so that she wouldn’t focus on it bothering her. Keeping people at a distance was easy. A princess’s dignity and arrogance. She didn’t think she had a lot of it in life, but feigning it wasn’t hard. She didn’t want anyone to touch her. Not after their hands pushed her down and their bayonets pierced her body. Not after the butts of their rifles broke and blistered her skin. Not after, even now, her body was cold – so cold to the touch. Even the other Servants had warmth, but the miserable cold trapped in her dying lungs never left.

But – her Master was warm.

Anastasia had not the courage to touch her, yet she knew this instinctively. It was not just her skin, or her breath. Her Master’s entire being was warm. Like a trap that she was so desperate to fall into. Her smile, and her laughter, and the inviting way her eyes lingered on each Servant in her employ. On impulse, she felt herself almost reaching for her Master’s back, the burning red feathers of zhar-ptitsa. But she stopped herself each time.

It was too late for miracles by now. Only a Holy Grail could grant her wishes.

Viy tells her that she’s being shy. That Ritsuka Fujimaru is the Master that summoned them in this condition, and that she should open herself up. It would be easier for her to fit in if she simply let Ritsuka into the room, even after pushing her so hard to have conversation through the walls. Honestly – she felt like pouting. Viy was not the type to take to humans, after all, and she had to be on the verge of death to form a contract with him.

That her Master would win over a familiar bound to her blood was frustrating.

Venturing beyond the room that she had designated for herself wasn’t unusual. In her heart, Anastasia was a princess, and she wouldn’t allow something as silly as her own discomfort to fetter her. That other Servants would visibly shiver as she passed would not make her lower her gaze. This was the path that existed for her, and she was not ashamed of it. She would smile, and be pleased with herself, because she was living on.

Ritsuka Fujimaru never shivered when Anastasia was near. Even though her breath steamed, her body was hot and still. There was something to say about someone who had a high aptitude for being a Master. She did tiny things, almost impossible to notice, and it blossomed a tiny flame inside her frame.

Maybe the 「 warmth 」  that radiated off of her Master’s body protected her. Made her immune to the savage winter that consumed Anastasia’s body. It was curious. It made her want to touch.

Her heart had risen into her throat. Without having realized it, she had reached out and been accepted. Her cold hand enveloped by her Master’s burning skin. It was as if the fire kindled in her chest had been blown, stoked, and spread. From her chest to her fingertips, the chill in her body had momentarily left her. Despite everything, anything that could’ve kept her feeling sensible, her cheeks burned so hotly that she forgot to think.

The heat in her body melted her. Exposing her heart and her nature to the person she had hoped to hide it from. Her Master’s hands were warm, soft – inviting. In that delicate palm, Anastasia saw her own heart laid bare. In her life she had never wanted separate herself behind panes of nobility and glass. She had wanted, more than anything, to bring love and happiness to the people her family had served.

A flash of a smile on Ritsuka’s face reminded her of herself; abandoning the pretense of being a Master out of love. In her heart, she had tried not to come to terms with that woman. The Anastasia who was filled with love without fear or obsession with status. That woman was a tragic person, after all. For as much as she loved, unbridled, that love would be devoured, not accepted. Received without reciprocation. And she would be – betrayed by that love.

That was the cold in her lungs and coating her bones. The bitterness of betrayal.

“Isn’t it cold?” She asked, her Master’s hands around her own.

To which Ritsuka Fujimaru tilted her head. “No, you’re actually quite warm.”

She wanted to say that Ritsuka was lying. That there was no way that her hands could be warm. But Anastasia felt the words stop dead in her throat. Ritsuka never did look cold. There was never a tremor in her hands, nor a chattering or her teeth. Just the ripple of mist from her lips as she spoke, as if she couldn’t even see it. Perhaps it was a protection as Master, to be unable to feel the chill. But others could still burn her, shock her, fray at her skin.

Without her ever wanting it to, the fire which had melted the core of her heart had woken her passion. The ever present winter, which nipped at her ears and lips, seemed like a summer’s breeze. With so many artists around Chaldea, getting her hands on things that felt familiar was easy. The texture of the paper beneath her fingers was the perfect roughness for multiple mediums, and the array of charcoal and pastels would easily leave her fingertips stained. But it felt liberating – closing her eyes and feeling the motions of her fingers brought about a warm blush of imagery.

Of life she chose to enjoy, and of life she refused to ignore. There was beauty in those memories, even if they stung.

Her Master’s elegant form, touched with the pigment of fire. Slender and feminine. Absentmindedly, pages and pages of the book had become dedicated to capturing the fluidity of Ritsuka’s shape. The curve of her body, to the shine of the smile on her lips. Until Anastasia could draw Ritsuka with her eyes closed. Her Master had easily become an extension of her body, and in her attempts at freeing her heart, Anastasia became bound.

This was something that was not unseen by Viy.

The smooth featureless face on the doll could not convey emotion, yet she could tell what he was thinking at a mere glance. “What adoration you have for your Master now, even though you had tried to fight it.” There was not a way to describe his voice. It had no pitch or inflection, nor was it in English or Russian. It was a projection of thoughts and words that were simply understood, not heard.

On the paper was a fire that would not go away, no matter how Anastasia touched. “It’s quite silly isn’t it?” Each time her fingers passed over Ritsuka’s shape, a lightness came to her chest. “It’s like having another sister.” Her words came off her tongue naturally, even if it didn’t feel right. Even if the pounding in her chest almost turned her stomach at thought. Her jaw clenched slightly, as she swallowed it down.

“A familiar feeling, perhaps.” Viy mused, and his inability to move made the words seem almost threatening. “You have always felt that way with women.”

Anastasia didn’t answer. Instead, she licked her finger and thumb and changed the page. Mesmerized by the shapes and the silhouettes she had produced of Ritsuka. It was a weight and elation in one. A chain around her heart that made her feel free, so long as she did not put a name to it. It was much easier when she was younger, burying her head away in the love of Russia. It was easy to be in love with everyone, without restraint. If her smile was for everyone, then it didn’t matter who she smiled at.

“You can continue that way. Selfishness was never your strong suit. But, you know,” there was a pause. The weight of the silence felt like it would crush her bones. “Cowardice never was either.”

Blood rushed to her face and she couldn’t quite pin if it was from anger or embarrassment. Viy was her companion, after all. The last friend she made in life. To hear his criticisms played out against her ear cut deep. Her fingertips pressed against the paper so harshly that her fingernails left dents in the paper. It was easy to love everyone because no one would stop you. Loving everyone was a blessing, a kindness.

Because if you love just one person, you could be wrong.

“You’re just running away from yourself now.” His voice was a popping and crackling in her ear. Just beneath the surface of the skin. The sight of Ritsuka’s slender back. Her womanly figure. Her undeniably feminine charm. It felt like her lungs were full of a heady liquor. So many years she had tried not to look too hard. “You were surrounded by handsome men and manly soldiers, but that never once mattered to you, did it?”

Because there was never a man that made her heart race.

“Do you want my suggestion?” Viy asked from the crook of her elbow.  
When she didn’t answer, he continued, “fall in love with her.”

Even if he said that, how cruel. Even though she had spent her whole life loving everyone. It was just so easy to fall in love with just one person.

Anastasia had never been the selfish type. That was a statement, not an opinion. She never felt like she wanted to be a princess or have special privileges. In that way, she could open herself to everyone. It was the perfect crime. Because she had truly loved Russia and truly loved her people, she was never lying. She never had to hide her passion, her love. She only had to sacrifice intensity.

She had loved cameras. Photography was a beautiful art. She wasn’t the only Servant that felt that way too. Georgios had a modest collection of cameras for various degrees of artistic measure. Anastasia didn’t need something so grandiose. In her hands was something small with a metallic sheen. There was a wide screen on one side and a cylinder on the other. They called it a “digital” camera now, and in a fraction of the time it took in her life, she could have a properly lit finished product.

They went to a lot of beautiful places as members of Chaldea. Places where the fields are filled as far as you could see with flowers. Places that were shaped by the wind and sea. People of all ages and shapes. Young people and old, the rich and the poor. In the sight of the camera’s viewfinder, she captured fragments of that beauty. She had no desire for artistry like Georgios, but rather a hunger. A longing to record, capture, collect. At the end of her viewfinder wasn’t a masterpiece but rather a part of her. A proof of existence, not just her own but the others around her.

More often than not, Ritsuka was at the focus of her photographs. If her photographs were proof of her living, then perhaps Ritsuka was a part of her spine. The part of her that held her up, assisted her in validating herself. No one could give that to Anastasia, but Ritsuka held her heart open. Viy had said to fall in love with her. But that part was the easy one. The clamor of the shutter proved that point again and again. Each lovely womanly frame made her cold body feel hotter.

Ritsuka’s eyes glittered as she clicked through the album. In her heart, Anastasia knew that it was a dangerous thing to share such intimate truths. But Viy’s voice remained at the back of her head. Fall in love with her. Trust her. She admired her thick eyelashes, eyes downcast. Her lips turned up into a smile. And she looked up at Anastasia with a comfortable warmth.

“Am I getting in the way or are you finding me?” Ritsuka asked, and the billow of her breath looked gorgeous against the green field.

Her Master’s heat rose from the core of her body. “All I want is to capture you.” Her voice quivered momentarily, afraid to put permanence to her words. She had held it in for so long, after all. She braced.

In her eyes, Ritsuka had become a painting. From the stark inferno of her hair, to the delicate porcelain to her skin. A staining of color, spread from ear to ear. More beautiful than anything Anastasia had hoped to create herself and far more profound than anything she had seen. Captured in the sun, she was beautiful and feminine. There was an unmistakable pang in her heart, one that was unable to misinterpret. Fall in love with her. That much was easy.

Capturing her was sweet.

She had wondered what it was like to kiss a man before. In the darkest parts of her mind, she was far more curious what a woman would taste like. How it would be to taste soft, lush lips, and draw out the flavor of her saliva. She had tried, many times, to close herself off to that by opening herself up. Tried to push away the thoughts with philanthropy hoping no one would notice. Her fingers laced into Ritsuka’s, pinning them against the cushion of the bed. Her knees sank into the bed on either side of Ritsuka’s hips.

How long had she longed for this intimacy? Not even just in her life, but from her Master herself. The heat of her body against Anastasia’s skin. How her frigid tongue always left Ritsuka’s mouth cloyingly hot. She felt her pant just from the touch, and Anastasia felt encouraged by that. Was it cold? Her teeth sank into Ritsuka’s bottom lip.

Her Master looked rather delicate beneath her. In some part of her mind, she felt a dam burst. Between her hands, between her legs, there was a beautiful woman that was hers.

There was a relentless selflessness inside of her, one that wasn’t comfortable with this selfishness. A part of her that told her that touching her Master was improper. Her hands traced lines down Ritsuka’s chest, her nails scrapping lightly along her breasts. She couldn’t reject that part of her, nor could she live with it any longer. From her bones to her blood down to her fingertips the dissonance came in cold.

Beneath her, she felt Ritsuka jump. For the first time, she had seen her Master react to the cold in her body and it was from the wet chill birthed from the tips of her fingers. Ritsuka’s breath quickened, and her fingers formed knots in the sheets. A rush of power filled her. She could no longer reason with the part of her that resisted this, and no longer fight the part of her that desired it.

“Did you like that, Master?” The words came from her unbidden. Her smile stung at her cheeks. Until that moment, Ritsuka had been immune to this cold. But then, without reason, she could make Ritsuka feel it. She giggled, rubbing her Master’s stiff nipple with the flat of her thumb, warming it back up from the assault. “We’re connected, then. You feel it when I want you to.”

Urging a dry cold to the surface, she reveled in the gasping and squirming. “Ghh. Nastya,” Ritsuka moaned, unable to escape her. Anastasia wished she could memorize the sound of her nickname in the throws of passion. The first time was the most meaningful, but – she knew if she worked, she would make many more.

Her fingers slid downwards, pressing against Ritsuka’s soft stomach. “Would you enjoy it if I teased you down here too?” She heard her own voice tremble from her nervousness and excitement. It was her first time touching one that was not her own and a lightheadedness came from that thrill.

From the tips of her fingers to the center of her legs, the whole of her being became focused on the part of her touching Ritsuka. Her Master’s most sacred place. Her slit was overflowing, so wet that the sparse hair that grew there had been slicked against the skin. Without direction or logic, her mouth watered in anticipation. When she moved, the sound of her lewd flesh caused Anastasia’s arousal to pound more furiously between her legs.

“Master – Ritsuka,” she started, stroking the length of her slit. Even if she had never touched a woman before, she had touched herself enough times to know what was good. Ritsuka’s core was hot, so much so that it felt like her fingers would melt. Sliding her finger around her clit’s slippery hood urged shameless moans from Ritsuka’s lips and Anastasia felt her hands tremble. “Do you wish for me to fuck you, Master?”

The vulgarity of her words made her feel seductive. The kind of woman that made men and women fight to get a hold of. It was an overwhelming power, one that she had never knew she wanted. Ritsuka’s red stained face and bleary eyes looked at her and in a raspy voice spoke out, “yes, please.”

Ritsuka’s wet cunt accepted her right away. It was almost like being devoured, her walls squeezing the life out of Anastasia’s finger. Her Master whimpered as she pressed herself all the way to the knuckle. Sex smeared between each finger and against the full surface of Anastasia’s palm urging her second finger.

The reaction was far more satisfying than she expected. Ritsuka’s twisting in shock and pleasure as Anastasia’s ice cold finger stretched her open. Inside, she was squeezed so tightly that it verged on pain. Ritsuka’s hands pawed at Anastasia’s arms uselessly as she wriggled, trying to drive the pair of fingers harder and deeper with every thrust.

“It’s – ah,” Ritsuka cried out, teary eyed and rustled. “Anas – tasia,” she spoke like her tongue was three sizes larger, unable to enunciate through her fierce gasping. “C-coming.”

Anastasia remained in awe, feeling and seeing a woman on climax for the first time. Ritsuka’s body, slick with sweat, was beautifully vulnerable. Her thighs and womanhood were coated with fragrant sex. Withdrawing her hand, she brought each finger to her lips. A sweeter taste than even her own. Fingers carelessly pressed to her lips, she smiled at Ritsuka.

“ты довольна, Мастер?”

She hadn’t thought bout speaking her mother tongue before that point, but in the high following Ritsuka’s orgasm, it was the only thing she could speak. Licking all the way to her wrist, she focused her eyes on Ritsuka, who slowly eased to a sitting position.

“That was your first time?” She asked, voice hoarse, in disbelief. “You just fucked me with an icicle.”

Blushing Anastasia knit her fingers together. “That was my finger. Did it hurt?”

Ritsuka pulled out from beneath her and leaned forward until her lips touched Anastasia’s thighs. The simple act made the frustrating ache below her stomach feel ever more present. Looking up with a knowing smile, her Master’s lips and tongue formed a line towards the center. “You were deep inside of me, I want to return the favor.” She purred crawling between her legs.

A tremor of revulsion and arousal struck her. Even though she was aware of such things, seeing Ritsuka’s face reach closer and closer to her center was an act of perversion. The rational self wanted to push her away. Wanted to find such an act disgusting or unclean. The taste of Ritsuka’s sex on her tongue made her question that self. After spreading her thighs invitingly, her hand ran through Ritsuka’s brilliant red hair.

“That is a filthy thing you intend to do,” she said, only inviting Ritsuka’s tongue along her wet panties. She squirmed, the stark difference of her Master’s hot tongue on her cold slick body driving her mad. “But you intend on doing it.”

Draping her arms around Anastasia’s waist, she urged the article of clothing free. Ritsuka leaned against her thigh, pressing kisses as she went. “Oh I do,” she hummed, eyes twinkling. “I will do any filthy act you want, Anastasia Nikolaevna.”  
  
What kind of person was this Master of hers? She had to wonder, as she easily honed in on Anastasia’s triggers. Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she nosed herself right around Anastasia’s mound. Her response was an unrestrained gasp, fingers digging against Ritsuka’s scalp. Her posture relaxed, and with it gave Ritsuka better space to work. She glanced down, and found her eyes in lock with Ritsuka.

In that brief moment, she had somehow conveyed a message she didn’t even know she had.

“Your Master is such a filthy girl,” Ritsuka’s smile sent shivers down her back. “Use her however you want, Anastasia Nikolaevna. If you want to make her choke against your pretty pussy, then you have that power.”

In her own way, she was helping. Distracted by the newness of it all, Anastasia had found it easy to lose focus. Her fingers gripped tighter against Ritsuka’s head and pushed her hard against her body. An appreciative moan escaped her Master, which came muffled against Anastasia’s wet pussy. The pressure and the roughness of Ritsuka’s tongue altered the experience entirely.

In that moment, all the cold had left her body and replaced it with a boiling heat. The bitter winter had left for just that short time, filling her with summer. Ritsuka’s hair, blushed like the sunset, was the color that filled her vision. Try as she might, being touched so perfectly, she couldn’t resist voicelessly coming against Ritsuka’s lips.

– It was the first time in awhile that she woke up feeling warm.

Being a Servant had it’s ups and downs and inside her heart was the bitter winter of betrayal that ended her life. Everything was always cold, that’s how it was. She wasn’t going to complain about, because so many others had such hardships. No, this was how things were going to be. But she was given another chance to feel happiness and to live. Her heart was so big for so long, letting anyone in because that was what she wanted. She wanted to love everyone.

But her Master was warm.

Even with their naked bodies pressed together with the light covering of the sheets, she did not see a single tremble in her Master’s body. Ritsuka did not feel the chill that lived inside Anastasia, not unless she was given it. It made her think, and question. She wanted to call her Master a liar, because Ritsuka Fujimaru was no different than anyone else. But – perhaps.

She lived outside of that bitter winter. The unconquerable summer that would inevitably come. It came after her death, after all. So, it wouldn’t be unusual to come to her one day. She pressed a kiss against Ritsuka’s cheek.

“Я люблю тебя, моя Жар-птица.”

**Author's Note:**

> a submission in bully vargust  
> i had a lot of fun writing this because i had a lot of russian insight into writing it. [tumblr](http://ashforge.tumblr.com/).


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